Scritch, Scritch, Scritch
by TheYmp
Summary: Cas is looking a bit more rumpled than usual. Set in a utopian post-season 7 where Cas has found redemption, Sam's brain's fixed and Dean's lightened up a bit. So AU then. Crack!Fic. Heavily implied pre-Dean/Cas.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**Cas is looking a bit more rumpled than usual****. Set in a utopian post-season 7 where Cas has found redemption, Sam's brain's fixed and Dean's lightened up a bit. So AU then. Crack!Fic. Heavily implied pre-Dean/Cas.**

~#~

**Scritch, Scritch, Scritch**

Dean noticed that Cas was looking a bit more rumpled than usual.

"You okay?" he asked the angel.

Cas' only response was a single grunt that could have been taken either way.

Before Dean could do more than roll his eyes, Sam returned bearing hot beverages and Cas perked up somewhat, grabbed his hot chocolate (he can't stand coffee) and retreated to the corner of the room where he proceeded to dose it up with all of the available packets of sugar.

Dean's teeth twinged and ached in sympathy.

"You're welcome," Sam bitched, he was quite the secret sugar-fiend himself and had intended on using at least at couple of the sachets for his own drink.

The brothers exchanged a conversation in the usual Winchester fashion of facial tics and twitches.

Sam raised an eyebrow, _What's wrong with your angel?_

Dean's lips twitched, _How should I know? And he's not my angel, bitch._

Sam pursed his lips, _Yes he is, jerk!_

Dean gazed at Cas, lost deep in thought, _Maybe the nerdy guy has seemed a bit off lately?_

He took a sip of his drink and choked on the foamy, milky, syrupy concoction masquerading as coffee.

"Hey Samantha, I've got your girly-girl-drink here," he grouched and stomped off out to the car with his manly, black filter-coffee dregs, just like Dad used to drink.

~#~

They were in the Impala. Dean was tapping on the steering wheel in time to Zeppelin on the stereo. Sam was riding shotgun doing what Dean always thought of as his 'happy frown' while he worked his way through pages of printed research.

As the newest recruit, Cas was consigned to the back seat where he was sprawled out in an untidy mess. He wasn't a fan of human transport, but didn't have much choice now. Since his rebirth he'd been on probationary reduced powers and Heaven only allowed him 'Angel Air' for emergencies.

Dean smiled at the angel, the poor guy always managed to look cramped and uncomfortable in the car. He knew from plenty of personal experience that there was more than enough space back there for at least two adults with 'room to move'.

_Scritch, scritch, scritch_, came the loud noise as the angel scratched at his shoulder.

"You okay back there, Cas?" Dean called in concern, trying to get eye contact with him via the rear-view mirror.

Cas grunted in response, not bothering to look up, and without stopping his working on the itch.

Dean felt a vague disappoint for reasons he couldn't quite fathom and instead turned to his younger brother, "So any ideas what we're looking for?"

Sam looked up from his notes, blinking in the light and for a moment looking just like a mole, before cracking joints and stretching himself out - and out - into all his gangling moose-like glory.

"Yeah, it looks to be a pretty straightforward salt'n'burn, man. The difficulty was identifying the main parties..."

Sam went on at some considerable length, describing in intricate detail the complex processes he'd gone through and how he'd needed to cross-reference records from various state databases while taking into account differences in primary key something-or-the-other.

Dean didn't really care about the specifics and allowed most of it to float over him, just nodding and agreeing at what seemed appropriate times. He let Sammy talk, enjoying how excited and animated his brother got by research. The subject matter might be dull as ditch water to him, but the beauty of his brother's happiness was pure and priceless. Recent experience, if anything, had taught Dean that life was short and brutal and he'd learned to take his pleasures whenever and wherever he could find them.

_Scritch, scritch, scritch_, echoed abnormally loud from the back seat as Cas started on the other shoulder.

Sam stopped speaking and both Winchesters turned to stare at the source of the annoying sound.

Cas seemed to sense the brothers glaring at him and he looked up in puzzled innocence.

"Wuh?"

"Do y'mind?" complained Dean.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," he sighed.

_Scritch, scritch, scritch._

~#~

The rest of the drive was uneventful, although Cas seemed distracted and distant.

It was getting late in the day and Dean's stomach decided enough was enough and gave a loud gurgle in complaint.

"Whoa, got lions in there or something?" quipped Sam.

"Oh hardy-ha-ha, bitch."

"Jerk."

"Next place we see, I'm pulling over," Dean grumbled.

"I wanna burger," demanded Cas from the back.

"Oh, it speaks!" mocked Dean, a bit put out by the angel's uncharacteristic tone.

Cas ignored him in favor of concentrating on trying to reach round to scratch the small of his back.

_Scritch, scritch, scritch._

Dean sighed, rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath.

~#~

When Don looked up to see the men walk into his diner, his first thought was that they looked more than a little out of place, he was after all trying to appeal to the more discerning middle-income, family crowd. He tried his best not to frown in worry, although they did look a little rough, like they could be trouble. _But times are hard and their money is certainly as welcome as anyone else's._

As he, with some reluctance, showed them to a table he realized the tall man was actually _huge_, and when he realized the third man was in a suit, he wondered if the first two were some kind of bodyguards. Then on a second glance he realized that although the suited man looked a little more respectable, he was actually the scruffiest, his hair sticking up in all directions and looking like he'd been sleeping in his clothes all week.

For a moment Don wondered if Trench coat man had been kidnapped, but then he did a strange little shuffle-scurry over to his seat, his trench coat flapping behind him, and started ordering the two other men around.

"They don't have burgers," pouted Trench coat man, until the shorter of the two rougher-looking men opened the menu for him and, without saying a word, pointed to the appropriate section.

_Scritch, scritch, scritch_.

The trench coat wearing man started scratching under his arms as if his life depended on it.

"Cas?" called the shorter man to Trench coat man in the gentle tone of a mother to her child.

'Cas' ignored him and instead started in on the other armpit, if anything with even more effort than before. It made Don's skin crawl just watching him.

With horror he realized that diners at most of the other tables had stopped talking and eating and were looking on in disgust at the sight and sound. One couple even got up and left.

"For Christ's sake, will you stop scratching!" roared the shorter man.

_Right, that's it_, thought Don, rushing over, "I'm sorry, _gentlemen_. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

~#~

Dean stormed out to the Impala with a face like thunder, Sam and Cas trailing after him.

"I have _never_ been so embarrassed," Dean muttered.

Sam rolled his eyes, but then glared at Cas himself when the angel tried to beat him to the passenger seat.

Cas huffed and grumbled as he climbed into the back seat, wrapping his trench coat tighter around himself.

Dean's stomach chose that moment to make a deafening-loud gurgling noise in complaint at the serious lack of food. Cas snorted and mumbled something inaudible to himself.

_Scritch, scritch, scritch_, came the sound from the back seat.

Dean bit his tongue, drawing blood.

~#~

That evening they checked into the usual low-end motel, lack of finances as ever dictating the need for the men to share a room.

"You wanna take one for y'self this time?" asked Sam, gesturing at the nearest of the two beds in the room. For some reason he couldn't quite identify, he felt a little awkward, as if he was suggesting something inappropriate.

Dean looked surprised; due to his height, Sam had to sleep diagonally across his bed which tended to make sharing a little impractical.

"It's just you seem like you could use the space," Sam mumbled, feeling the heat crawl up his cheeks, like he needed to justify his reasons for offering to share a bed with Cas.

"No, no it's fine, we're used to it now anyway," Dean was quick to counter, telling himself that Sam was still a bit jumpy about being touched and when asleep Cas tended cling on like a limpet.

It was a decision he was later to regret when the angel woke him by elbowing him in the ribs for the third time that night.

Dean lay on his back in the dark, staring up at the stained and peeling ceiling while Cas tossed and turned trying to get comfortable until finally burying himself into his side.

Dean sighed in relief as wrapped his arm around his friend and started to feel himself floating off into the welcome embrace of sleep.

_Scritch, scritch, scritch._

~#~

Dean woke bleary eyed and with something tickling his face. He spat something out of his mouth as he sat up, feeling something falling off of him, a sensation like dry snow, and he wondered if he was still asleep and dreaming.

The room looked like an explosion in a pillow factory, there were white feathers of every imaginable size, piled inches-deep and covering every available surface in the room.

A mound of feathers shifted and resolved into Sam sitting up on the other bed, his eyes wide in shock.

They stared at each other for several seconds, "Where's Cas?" blurted Sam in dread.

Dean jumped to his feet in panic as he realized the angel, normally such a heavy sleeper, was no longer by his side. _My God, he's exploded_, thought Dean, a scream about to take birth on his lips.

The bathroom door swung open and Cas walked in. His hair was still a little wild, but he otherwise looked neat and well groomed, and for once didn't seem to be scratching.

Dean and Sam gaped at him open-mouthed and speechless.

"Sorry about all that," Cas smiled in apology, "But, I _really_ hate molting season."

~#~


End file.
